Hearts
by cornwallace
Summary: I think that some aspects of human nature can be depicted, in a way, by a simple game of cards. The question is; are you in it for victory, or are you in it to cause and revel within the failure of your fellow players? I assure you, there is a difference.


**** ** *** ****** / * * * ***

"Hello?!"

His voice muffled by the thick walls, you can just hear him screaming out there in that dimly lit room. Looks like he's finally woken up. How long has it been? A few hours. I haven't been paying much attention to the time, no. I've been paying attention to him. Watching him sit there, asleep for hours.

"Is anyone there?!"

Just my luck that he would wake up while I was in the bathroom. I try to excrete everything as quickly as possible, which isn't comfortable, to say the least. Snag the loose sheet of toilet paper off the side of the roll and spin it, wrapping it two times around my hand. Give myself a good once over and hop up while pulling my cotton panties up under my skirt. Moving too hastily, pulled them up too fast. Accidentally tucks your skirt into your underwear. Extract the cloth from the tight space between my skin and the cotton. Okay, Amy. Compose yourself. Flush, and look in the mirror.

"Who's that?! HELLO?!"

Yeah, yeah. I'm coming. I just need to touch up my makeup a bit. And a little perfume. There we go. Now we're ready for the ball.  
Flip the light switch down as I open the door. Before my shadow can stretch out before me, it is consumed by darkness. Make my way blindly down the hallway. I literally know this humble shithole well enough to walk through the place blindfolded. Groping through darkness for the doorknob, I'm off by a few inches I think. To the right? No... the left.. no... aha! There it is! Too far up.  
Turn the knob and push the door wide open. Standing just on the outskirts of the dim light bulb's radius.

There he is, in the center of the room. Stuck facing the opposite wall. His wrists locked in handcuffs through the armrests and around the back of the steel chair. His feet tied to the front legs. He's consistently struggling, testing his bonds.

"Hello?"

Silence.  
Sit here and watch him struggle a bit.  
Watch him squirm.

"I know you're there. Just please say something."

Can't help but chuckle about that. Slowly step forward, heels loudly clacking against the wood. Stop a few feet shy of the back of the chair.

"What is this?! _What the fuck is this?!"_

He squirms more and tries to turn his head to look at me.  
He's hyperventilating.  
Already scared. How cute.  
Already frantic, and the fun part hasn't even started yet.

"FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!"

"Calm down now, Sonic. We don't want to hurt ourselves, now do we?"

He stops moving completely. He even stops breathing. I can already see the expression on his face in my head. Heels thudding against the floor, I slowly walk around to confirm my suspicion. His eyes wide. His mouth agape. His pupils look up to meet mine. He's unable to speak. He just trembles and stares up at me.

"I know you..."

"You do?"

He hasn't spoken to me since we lived in Knothole.  
Oh so many years ago we established this "civilization" in the big city. Mobotropolis.  
This was the peace he fought to create. This was the freedom he sought after.

Staring up at me with those big blue eyes.

"Amy, right?"

"The one and the same."

"What... what is this? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Are you laughing?"

He starts straining once more, squirming around and causing the chair to shake and wobble. The legs grinding against the surface of the floor.

"Let me go, okay? This isn't funny."

"Oh?"

"I'm not kidding, Amy. Let me go."

"In due time, Maurice. In due time."

"How do you know that name?"

"I suppose you'd be surprised how easily your average citizen can obtain information about a celebrated hero such as yourself."

His head drops and he breathes for a few beats.

"What is it you want from me?"

"Oh, come off it. I couldn't tell you that, now could I?"

"What? Why not?"

"It's not as fun if you know what happens next. Where do you think the suspense comes from?"

He doesn't respond. He just sits there, leaning his head forward and staring into his lap. Body slowly swaying with each deep, slow breath he takes. Can't help but smile.

"I'll be right back, hon."

Exit the room, leaving the door wide open. Make my way down the hall, past the bathroom and into the kitchen. Open the freezer and grab the bottle of vodka resting on top of a bed of ice trays. Close the freezer and set the bottle on the counter right next to the fridge. Open the drawer right under it and remove the snub nosed revolver and a knife. Set them next to the bottle and turn around, looking for my purse. I spot it over there, hanging from the door handle. A multicolored mess, I throw the strap over my shoulder. Prying apart the button that keeps the top closed. It snaps open to reveal a shadowed mess of cluttered miscellaneous junk. Most of it I don't need, but whatever. I don't need most of the shit I keep around. I have more than eight different purses and I only use one of them. None of this is relevant. I dump the items into the depths of the bag hanging under my armpit and dig around for my cigarettes. Light a smoke and drop the pack and lighter back into the purse. Snap it shut. Grab the bottle and crack it open one handedly. Index finger curling around the cap, holding it against the neck of the plastic bottle. Rip out the shitty built in pourer, and turn the bottle upside down. Take a drag of the cigarette, and make my way back through the doorway into the hall. Pass the bathroom and return to Sonic, just how I left him.

Take another swig from the bottle and make my way over to him.

"Smoke?"

He looks up at me. His fight is already gone, which makes me sad. We can't have that, now can we? The hero shouldn't be crapping out this early. It's not part of the formula. Where's the suspense if he doesn't care?  
Drag the cigarette, and sit on his lap, staring him in the face.

"I asked you if you smoked" I say, ashing it over his head.

This doesn't make him happy at all.

"No," he says resentfully "it's bad for your health."

Grinning at him, I say "I suppose that means you don't drink, either."  
He doesn't have a verbal answer. He just stares coldly into my eyes.  
Ash the cigarette over him again, sparks raining down on him from above. He seethes and flinches, trying to avoid them, but they land and burn out on him.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!"

Tap my chin thoughtfully while taking another drag off the Lucky Strike. Exhale plumes of smoke directly into his face. He coughs rather loudly. I wait for him to stop.

"I want you to think of this as a game of Hearts, kay?"

"Hearts?"

"The card game. You're familiar with Hearts, aren't you?"

He wordlessly nods.

"Good. Now, you may not know it, but Hearts is my favorite game. I always preferred it over Spades. Why? Spades is about teamwork. Working together."

"I'm familiar with the games."

"Trust me, Sonic. It's in your best interest to hear me out, okay? Now, hearts is more true to life, you know? Hearts is about fucking everyone else over. The selfish concept behind the game paints a pretty realistic picture of our kind, don't you think?"

"I've always been more of a Spades person."

"Heheheh. I expected as much. I'm sorry, Sonic but we simply cannot work together on this one."

"Why not?"

"If we worked together, there would be no one to work against, yes? There would be no game!"

"But-"

"Shhh! These rules are important, and you need to pay close attention to them. You see, we're already about halfway through the game. You didn't know you were playing, but you always have been. Your whole life. Now, you have thirteen points at this point, okay? That's thirteen cards you've taken you've taken for other people. We'll call them sacrifices, okay Mr. Hero?"

"Whatever."

"So, here's the play" I say, setting down the bag and the bottle, and digging around the darkness for the revolver. Fingers clasp around cold metal, and I reveal my toy to him. His eyes widen.

Eyes following my thumb as it pulls the hammer back. Plant the cold metal barrel under his chin, lifting his head up. Making eye contact. His lip is quivering. "Two hands left in the game. On the board is the seven of spades, the jack of diamonds, and the king of clubs. In your hand is the six of spades and the infamous queen. Keep in mind the ace of spades has yet to be played. One card will end the game and cement the score," press the revolver hard against his chin "meaning I pull this trigger and the game is over. The other keeps you around for another hand. What is it going to be?"

"Please, Amy. I don't want to die."

"Which card are you going to play? If you're familiar with the game, this is a very easy question."  
His breath getting rapid, his eyes wildly darting around their sockets. He nervously licks his trembling lips. A deep breath and he stops breathing. He closes his eyes and says;  
"The seven of spades?"

Laugh.

"Typical. Looks like you'll be around for another hand, then."

A broken sigh of exasperation escapes from between his chattering teeth.

"But so you know," removing the gun from his chin and placing it under mine "collecting all the points has the opposite effect in this wacky game."  
Pull the trigger.

__

Click.

"It's called shooting the moon."

He's motionless. Speechless. My free hand gently petting his smooth, peach colored chest. Fingers tracing his abdomen gently while I look him in the face. A surprised, unfaltering shocked expression plastered over it as I dig around in my bag for the knife, dropping the empty, useless back in its place. His silence is finally broken whenever the shiny blade catches his eye.

"W-hat are you doing?"

"I'm keeping you around for another round."

"No, please-"

The tip of the knife gently grazing the skin, tickling him as it makes its way up to the left center of his chest. Knife tip pushes against his fragile flesh. He winces as it gently parts the epidermis.

"Stop. Please stop this, Amy."

Wedging itself into the soft fleshy surface. Blood leaking out around the tip of the cold steel from all directions. Slowly start dragging the tip downward.

"Stop!"

Another vertical line right next to it.

"You're in no position to be giving out orders."

A horizontal line connects the two.

"STOP! FUCKING STOP IT!"

Space.

A vertical line connected to three horizontals. One in the middle, two on the ends.  
He shuts his mouth and his eyes. His legs and arms trying to flail, but confined to their stations. He only manages to squirm as he bites his lip and tries to shut it out.

Space.

Vertical line again. A curve going from the top to the center. Diagonal line leading away from the curb.  
I ask him if he's going to cry, and sure enough tears start rolling down his cheeks. His wounds bleeding profusely, to the point where the symbols can no longer be made out.

Space.

Draw a circle, and rip away the round piece of skin that hangs loosely off due to bad cutting.  
He screams for the first time, and his high pitched hoarse voice is lovely music to my ears. Like a bow gently dragging across all the right notes on a violin.

Drop the cigarette onto the floor next to us and snuff it out with my heel as I underline the symbols.  
Stand up and drop the knife onto the floor. The loud noise of stainless steel clashing against hardwood can barely be heard among Sonic's moaning and crying.  
Grab the bottle and take a swig as I cross around his back, circling back around until I'm front and center.

Step forward. Wait for him to calm down. He stops screaming and starts breathing heavily. Hoarse voice breaking through every time he expels a lungful of air.  
His stomach and lap; a mess of thick dark red liquid dripping its way down the chair and leaking onto the floor. He doesn't say anything.

Take another swig from the half gallon bottle, and pour a couple of ounces onto his bare chest, immediately causing him to emit the loudest scream I've ever heard before in my entire life. The blood washes away to the floor beneath him, revealing the symbols once again in their finished state;

**HERO**

His screams continue as I lean forward and kiss him on the forehead.

"Night-night" I tell him, gathering my now sticky and red belongings from the floor beneath him, stuffing them into the bag and pulling the string above him, dangling beneath the dim light bulb. Take another swig as I make my way to the door through the darkness. Slam it behind me, the walls once again distorting and quieting his screams.

**** ** *** ****** / * * * ***


End file.
